


grief

by aceflowerchild



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Grief, and then takes a nap, he cries, his dad cries too but hes not the focus of this fic now is he?, max misses his mom and is very angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 06:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceflowerchild/pseuds/aceflowerchild
Summary: Max has good days and bad days. Today is a bad one.





	grief

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to cope with feelings about the death of my own mom, so a lot of how max feels is how i am feeling, so its kinda personal, but i wanted to post it, because maybe reading it could help someone else? idk. catch me on the flipside for more talking

Max stared out the window, idly watching that giant dragon spirit pass by, the way it did every day. He wasn’t paying any attention to Mr. Spender, though he knew he should be. Part of him was yelling at the other parts to face forward and take notes, but it wasn’t very persuasive. So Max kept looking out the window, thinking his thoughts and not hearing anything that was being said. For the most part.

“-ax. Max!” Max jumped at the sound of his name. Mr. Spender was standing in front of his desk, brows furrowed. Everyone else was gone. The bell must’ve rung. Max started to gather his things, but Spender put a hand down on the desk.

“Max, are you okay?” he asks, and he gives Max this _look_. The look that says, ‘I know what you’re thinking about.’

“Yeah, I’m fine _,_ ” Max snaps, grabbing his books from under Spender’s hand and shoving everything roughly in his backpack. Truthfully, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell that to anyone. There were good days and bad days and today just happened to be one of the bad. So what? He could deal with it, it wasn’t anything _new._ There wasn’t anything he could do about it. There was no bringing his mom back.

So he kept quiet. And sure, there were things he wanted to do aside from raise his mother from the dead or build a time machine to save her. Like repeatedly slam a door shut until his arms were too tired or scream until his voice gave out or scratch and claw at something until there is nothing left of it but shreds. But he can’t do those things. Not without people worrying about him and trying to send him to therapy or something.

Max walked through the halls, dragging his feet as he makes his way to his locker. He doesn’t wanna go home. He doesn’t wanna do _anything_. He wants to be in his room and curl into a ball and sleep for the next thirty years. But he has to go, his family will worry. Especially Zoey. She gets so freaked if people are more than a few minutes late for anything.

He sighs heavily and turns around, only to be face to face with Johnny, who is squinting at him. Max side steps him and asks, deadpan, “What do you want Johnny?”

“You doin’ alright, Puckett?”

“…What?”

Johnny rolls his eyes and repeats himself, over-annunciating each word. “Are… you… do-ing… alright?”

“Yeah! Yes. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Johnny shrugs. “You been kinda spacey all day. I- people’re worried boutcha.”

“Then tell _people_ that I’m _fine._ ” Max stomps off to the doors, fuming. He hated that question, hated the way people asked it, and he’d especially hated it after his mom had died.

Everyone would always ask it in the same stupid voice, with their heads tilted to one side and sickening looks of worry. ‘ _Are you doing okay?_ ’

And every time someone asked him, he wanted to scream. ‘ _What kind of stupid question is that? No I’m not okay! I have never been_ less _okay!_ ’

Or, its cousin, ‘ _How are you holding up?_ ’

Terribly. That’s how.

Before he knew it, Max was home. His dad was at the register and the store was empty, so there was no one else to see Max running up the stairs or to hear him slamming his door shut.

He dropped his backpack on the floor and collapsed on his bed, feeling more exhausted than any 12-year-old rightly should be. And a few minutes later, unsurprisingly, there comes a knock at his door.

“Max? Can I come in?”

Max sits up and scrubs a hand over his face before he calls out, “Yeah.” The door opens and his dad steps in, carefully avoiding Max’s backpack, and he sits down on the side of the bed.

Wordlessly he lifts an arm, a silent offer of a hug and Max hesitates for a second because he doesn’t want to admit that he needs help and comfort, not like a normal human, but he knows that he does, and he dives in, wrapping his arms around his dad. The arm comes back down and Max can’t help it: he cries.

It starts slowly, just a few tears leaking out, but it quickly turns into full-on sobbing. He buries his face into his dad’s side and his whole body shakes with how hard he’s crying.

“I know, kiddo.” Dad bring his other arm up and squeezes Max, rocking slowly from side to side. Max is pretty sure that his dad is crying too.

He’s not sure how much longer it is until his sobbing calms and Max can breathe normally again. He leans back, away from his dad, and squeezes his eyes shut to rub at them with the heels of his hands. His head feels stuffy and heavy and he just wants to take a nap now. He hasn’t cried that hard since… the funeral, probably.

As his dad stands up, Max brings his hands down and says, quietly, “Thanks dad.”

There’s a bittersweet smile on his dad’s face as he says, “Anytime buddy bear. Except. I have to get back to the store now. You okay to be alone?”

Max nods, already shifting to get under his covers. “Gonna nap.”

Thumbs ups are exchanged and Max is drifting off seconds later. And maybe he’s imagining it, but his chest feels lighter than it has in years. So maybe admitting he has emotions isn’t the worst thing he could do.

And then, he’s asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're having problems, I am pretty much always available over on tumblr [hckin-nerd.](http://hckin-nerd.tumblr.com/) I will say that I am not at all psychologically trained, so don't expect anything you would expect of a therapist. I hope that each and every one of you is having/has a wonderful day.


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